Tech Support
by JaymesParker
Summary: Reid returns to the BAU offices after forgetting his tablet. Once there he discovers he is not alone. Consider yourself warned; Slash, solo, UST, voy, oneshot. Reviews welcome, but so are shy people.


This is my first CM fic… and I think my first one shot since I tend to write long.

**Obligatory disclaimer:** I don't own Criminal Minds… if I did the show would be… well... you don't want me writing the show. Or do you? Sue me, but I can only pay you in cookies.

"_Desire! That's the one secret of every man's career. Not education. _

_Not being born with hidden talents. Desire."_

-Bobby Unser

It was afterhours and therefore, he shouldn't have been there in the first place. He actually had left, flashed his transit pass and boarded the subway, getting almost all the way home before he realized he had forgot to bring his tablet with him.

"Senseless technology," Reid grumbled as he flashed his badge at the security desk half an hour later and proceeded through the series of corridors that would eventually lead him to the BAU floor. The team had just returned from a case, and would be taking the next day off to recuperate before returning to the office to finish off the paper work. Reid planned to just finish his the next day and be done with it. It wouldn't take him long to finish it up and it meant he had the excuse to help everyone else finish their report, chiefly Morgan, for reasons Morgan was completely unaware of.

Garcia had been nice enough to indulge his desire for paper case files for over a year after the rest of the team had converted to tablets but finally the crackdown had come from on high– no more paper files, and Dr. Reid was forced to adapt to the tech everyone else had been using for the past several months. At first, he'd hated it before finally adapting to the ease in which he could find information. Now the only sign of his resistance was his subconscious making him ditch it at the office, unless he had it in his messenger and unless he had his messenger over his shoulder, the tablet remained locked in a desk drawer, as it had earlier today during a brief meeting in Hotch's office about time off post-case and when the team was expected to return.

Reid pressed his fingers into the inner corners of the eyes, sighing as the elevators doors opened at the end of the hall, spitting him out onto his team's floor. It was shared with one other BAU team– but they were out on a case of their own at the moment. Reid trudged down the hall, dragging his feet slowly, the subtle brushing of carpet under his feet the only sound in the vicinity. He passed Garcia's 'cave' and the subtle sounds of whirring machinery, before the hallway spat him out into the 'bullpen'. He descended the stairs and crossed the rows of desks until he reached his own. He sat down, pulled the set of keys from his pocket and unlocked the desk drawer. And there it sat, his tablet wrapped in its protective brown leather case, at the bottom of the drawer. He scooped it up and stashed it unceremoniously into his messenger bag, shoved the drawer closed and relocked it. In the silence that seemed to take over the room after the metal drawer's slam had faded out, he heard it, a quiet moan from somewhere across the bullpen. Reid straightened up immediately, twisting his head at the sound. It had been so fleeting and so quiet he couldn't tell whether it was a moan of pain or distress, or something else entirely.

Shrugging his shoulders to brush off the noise, Reid straightened up from his seat, and got out from behind his desk, turning back towards the stairs that led to the hallway, the elevators and of course, home. He was just passing Garcia's office when he heard it again– this time a distinct, low moan a little further up the hall, towards the washrooms. This time Reid slowed almost entirely to a stop, heart pounding. That was not a cry of pain, in fact the sound betrayed almost exactly the opposite of pain. Reid felt the heat crawl up his neck, his skin burning red, heat crawling up his collar, over his ears to his cheeks. He knew that sound, he'd heard it once or twice before and politely ignored it on those occasions, because when you're sharing a room with a co-worker while working a case, the last thing you want to do is bring up the fact that you heard them masturbating in the shower, or in the middle of the night in the bed only a few feet away… or in this case, in the washroom at the BAU.

Reid went to take a step in the direction of the elevator, lifting his foot slowly, thankful that the floor was still carpet, not the linoleum that surrounded the embankment at the elevators.

"Mmmm… Reid."

The man froze in place. There was no way the man on the other side of that door could know he was not alone… could he? Reid thought back to only a few nights ago in Connecticut– the dark hotel room, waking in the middle of the night because he needed to pee, which was unusual enough. He had caught the change in the room he and Morgan were sharing before he got out of bed– thank goodness. It was dark, still the middle of the night, but he could hear the distinct brush of skin on skin before he heard the stifled moan– the moan which kept Reid on his side in bed, facing the wall for what felt like an eternity before there was a final gasp, and a guttural groan. A few minutes later, Reid glimpsed over his shoulder as Morgan got up– naked– went to the washroom, returned to bed, and fell asleep. Morgan had known Reid was in the room then, and had very carefully controlled his… pleasure. But now… what now? He wouldn't be using Reid's name unless… unless Reid had something to do with his fantasies and Morgan thought he was completely alone.

Reid felt his skin prickling, practically glowing red at the realization that he knew these things about Morgan, because they were also true of himself. He shouldn't be here, witnessing this, this was most definitely a private moment. He steeled himself, took a deep breath, grabbed the strap of his satchel securely and took a determined step towards the elevators.

"Fuck! So good Reid…"

That voice. Reid was used to hearing Morgan swear in frustration, but this was not frustration. This was… erotic. And his name was involved for whatever reason. It was so basely sexual that Reid couldn't help himself. He glanced up and down the corridor once, twice, then back-tracked and slipped into the unlocked office door of Garcia's cave. He turned slowly, quietly as possible and turned the lock. There was no way he was going to make it home on the subway without a potentially embarrassing situation. Forget the subway– the elevators were about to be a problem. Reid all but tore that satchel off over his head, tossing it to the floor before shaking hands went to his belt, fingers working clumsily to loosen the leather. Reid's slacks wouldn't open fast enough, and with a sudden pop and clatter, the button flew somewhere into the room, probably never to be seen from again amidst all the machines. He vaguely thought about the possibility that Garcia could have surveillance somewhere in his office, but it was more likely that she had safeguards on her computers.

Stumbling, Reid almost slid right off the front of the ergonomic desk chair as he landed ungracefully on its seat, the wheeled furniture shooting back several inches before he slapped a foot to the floor to keep him stationary. His eyes closed as he slid a hand under the waist of his boxer briefs and pulled his erection free, all thoughts on the man across the hallway engaged in the exact same thing. He pictured Derek in a stall, eyes closed, head leaned back against the wall, fully clothed, but dishevelled by lust. His mind quickly travelled back to the night in the motel room; the heated gasps and heavy breathing, the sound of skin rubbing skin, the scratch of sheets. How many times had he fantasized about pressing his lips against Morgan's coffee and cream skin, exploring his sculpted muscles with bony fingers, tasting his lips. How many times had he fantasized about hearing his name on those lips?

He began stroking, fantasizing about touching, tasting. Morgan in his bedroom, on his sheets. Morgan's sweat, mingling with his own, his muscled back rippling as Reid thrust into him, moaning both in fantasy and reality at the slick heat. Morgan moaning his name wantonly, writhing. Reid gasped. Did he just hear his name again? He remained completely motionless and then the sound came again.

"Fuck… Reid… mmmm… so tight."

Suddenly the scenarios in Reid's mind drastically changed. He'd never thought of things this way, lying on his back, underneath Morgan's powerful form. Being so undeniably filled, undone with desire, writhing and panting and so fucking debauched–

"Fuck!"

Silence. Reid's exclamation of his (in his opinion disappointingly premature) orgasm had not been unaccompanied. He frantically glanced at the door, worried for some reason it had been opened, only to find the cool dark surface as sealed as it ever was.

"Shit," he cursed under his breath, something he very rarely did– something Morgan had made him do twice now. He hadn't been paying any attention to what he was doing, and now he had ejaculate well… everywhere. On his hand, his pants, his shirt… even Garcia's keyboard and nothing to clean it up with. He looked around the room, breathing hard, mind racing. He had to get this– and himself– cleaned up before he got caught. Reid's mind raced a mile a minute– _What if Morgan heard me? What if he comes looking for me? What am I going to say? _ Of course, this meant the resident genius hadn't thought of the fact that many of the same thoughts could quite possibly have been running through his chorus partner's head as well.

One handed, Reid began searching through Garcia's desk, looking for something to clean up the mess. He found a pack of tissues, the kind women kept in their purse, in the top drawer which was definitely not going to do the job. He pulled them out nonetheless, in case they would have to do and then continued searching until at last he found a few scattered, pre-packaged computer screen wipes. _Thank God._

After cleaning up his mess, Reid buried the soiled tissues and screen wipes in the garbage under all the refuse of take-out containers, coffee cups and gum. Sufficiently satisfied that the evidence was buried, and that a custodian would likely be emptying the garbage anyway, he dared to approach the door. Inch by inch, he eased the steel open, glancing up and down the hall before slipping out, noting that Morgan was nowhere to be seen… or heard. Clutching his aged satchel in front of him to conceal the wet stain left on the front of his trousers, he proceeded very quickly to the elevators. He punched the down button with more aggression than necessary and then stood, waiting awkwardly in front of the metal doors, tapping his foot anxiously as he watched the glowing red, neon numbers above the door count the floors as the elevator passed them.

Finally, after 47 seconds of waiting, that felt more like five minutes, the elevator toned its arrival and the doors sprung open, revealing an empty interior. Reid finally let out the puff of air he'd help trapped in his lungs and stepped inside, quickly hitting the 'G' button to prompt the elevator to take him back downstairs. The faster he got downstairs, the sooner he could go home, shower, and try to reconcile what he'd heard… and what he'd done before he saw Morgan again. The doors had just about slid closed when a mocha toned arm pushed against one of them, causing the safety mechanism to jump in and open the door. Reid swallowed hard as the doors sprung open and he was left face to face with Morgan. His expression of surprise came a second too late. Morgan had known he was in here– the thought of what else he knew made Reid's skin very quickly redden.

"Hey kid, what are you doing still hanging around?" Morgan attempted to ask casually, but his visage of calm was not entirely believable.

"I forgot my tablet," Reid muttered, staring hard at the elevator numbers as Morgan's hand moved in front of him– much closer than necessary– to hit the 'close door' button on the metal panel beside the door.

"Yeah… I left my keys," Morgan excused. The ride down was silent until the second floor.

"So, you going out tonight? Finding yourself a lovely lady?" Morgan asked, turning on the charm, his confident smile causing a similar expression to tug at Reid's lips.

"Uh… I don't know, I was thinking of… why do you ask?" Reid stuttered, suddenly hyper sensitive to personal questions. Morgan bit his lower lip, a smirk beginning to take over his face.

"You may want to change– you've got something on your pants." Reid's breath caught in his throat, as he immediately glanced down to his pants. The elevator door dinged.

"See you Friday Pretty-boy," Morgan called over his shoulder with a coy look as he sauntered from the elevator. Sure enough, Reid's satchel was still securely in place, preventing Morgan from seeing a thing.

"_A reporter's ability to keep the bond of confidentiality often enables him to_

_learn the hidden or secret aspects of government."_

_-_ Bob Woodward


End file.
